


such a lonely thing

by tosca1390



Category: Psy-Changeling - Nalini Singh
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 17:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2317619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It is still dark when Sienna wakes, alone in the middle of their large bed. With the blankets tucked up around her, she is perfectly warm; but the warmth she lacks is of her mate. </i>
</p>
<p>Hawke gets the flu; Sienna deals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	such a lonely thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magisterequitum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/gifts).



> For Jordan, some fluffy otp goodness.

*

It is still dark when Sienna wakes, alone in the middle of their large bed. With the blankets tucked up around her, she is perfectly warm; but the warmth she lacks is of her mate. She blinks, looking at the digital timepiece resting on her bedside table. The green numbering flickers _3:00 AM_ at her, and she scowls, sitting up in bed. 

There is an extreme sense of discomfort from Hawke’s end of the mating bond. She sits in bed, reaching for the old ratty sweater of his he peeled away from her body not four hours ago, and shuts her eyes, trying to feel him out. He is much better at tracking her through the bond than she is him, but she is trying to hone her psychic focus more directly. The mating bond is a construct she still longs to explore in depth; learning its intricacies and its limitations present a fun and intriguing distraction for her in the midst of tension and war. However, in the cool winter night, now she just wants to find her erstwhile mate. 

Preferably without leaving bed. However – 

Wrinkling her nose, Sienna toes out of bed and grabs her discarded sweatpants from the bedroom floor. Swallowed by his sweater, the sleeve hems dangling well past her hands, she feels disheveled, as sexy as a piece of toast. Their quarters and the den feel muffled, enclosed; she wonders if it snowed again during the night. A fresh six inches settled yesterday, and Marlee spent an hour making snow angels in the White Zone with her friends and the nursery pups, with Walker and Sienna looking on. 

A cough rattles through their quarters, startling her from her thoughts. Sienna purses her lips and drags a hand through her loose hair, tiptoeing out of their bedroom and into the living room. Pale yellow light seeps along the floor, lining Hawke in warmth as he lays stretched out along the couch, a blanket pulled to his chin and his arm slung across his eyes. He looks pale, she thinks as she walks out to him. 

“Hawke?”

He inhales, the breath sounding thick and nasal. She sits on the edge of the coffee table as he lifts his arm, blinking bleary redshot eyes at her. 

“You should sleep,” he murmurs, voice husky. “You’re on at six.”

“I know,” she says patiently. He does not tell her because he does not believe she knows her schedule and her responsibilities; he tells her because he is aware of her and her needs in a way she appreciates. “What are you doing out here?”

He shrugs, closing his eyes again. There is sweat at his temples, the line of his neck taut. Under the blanket, she can see his sweatshirt stretched tight across his shoulders. His feet poke out at the end of the blanket, enclosed in socks. He was naked when they finally went to bed just hours ago. 

“Had a little bit of a cough,” he mumbles. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

“Oh,” she says, glancing him over. Her fingers go to her hair, plaiting the ruby-dark strands by habit as they lay over her shoulders and breast. “Do you need Lara?”

Shaking his head, he reaches out to touch her knee, a reassuring contact echoed on the psychic plane. “Just a cough. Go back to bed.”

She takes his hand in both of hers, startled at the clammy feel of his skin. “Come with me.”

He coughs, the sound wet and hoarse, and turns his face away from hers. His hand twitches and flexes in hers. “I’ll keep you up, baby.”

“I don’t mind,” she says, brow furrowing. 

“Well, I do,” he says, turning his face back to her with a faint smile, one she can’t quite read. He is no longer a mystery to her, but there are some intricacies of emotion and feeling she still has to take time to parcel out. “I want you at your best when you’re on patrol.”

“I’m always at my best,” she counters, merely to be contrary. She doesn’t like him out here alone on the couch. It makes her feel as if something is terribly wrong. “Hawke, are you sure you don’t want to get Lara?”

Sighing, he heaves himself up to a sitting position, shoulders shaking with a restrained cough. He rubs his hands across his pale face and fixes an ice-blue gaze on her. “Sienna.”

She glares at him, at the attempted dominance in his gaze and along the mating bond. “Stop that,” she mutters, reaching out to push at his jaw. His skin is damp and hot everywhere. “Hawke – “

“I’ll come to bed,” he murmurs, rising and pulling her along with him. The cream knit blanket falls away from his body as they walk away from the living room, back to their bedroom. 

“You don’t look good,” she says as they curl back into bed. He keeps his distance, not bringing her into his chest or spooning behind her as he usually does. She leans up on her elbows and scrutinizes him in the artificial nighttime darkness, his silver-blond hair dull and stuck to his brow and neck with sweat. 

“You always know how to talk to a man,” he mumbles. 

She strokes a light hand over his brow, through his hair. He nestles into the touch, oddly quiescent. “Hawke, will you go see Lara tomorrow?”

He sighs, eyes closing. “Go to sleep, Sienna.”

“That’s not an answer,” she says, but he is already dozing, lost to her, the lines of his face slack with sleep. 

Sienna watches him sleep for a few moments, the restless shift of his eyes behind his closed lids worrisome. She will make him go to Lara tomorrow, she thinks. He will not refuse her. 

*

Sienna wakes up alone, and disgruntled. 

She fulfills her sentry shift, distracted by thoughts of Hawke’s health. That same odd discomfort lingers from his end of the bond; not life-threatening, just unsettling. It’s a clammy day, dark grey rain clouds hovering under the high tree line. She rubs her palms over her sleeved arms and peers into the thick pine groves, her hair peeling out of its braid and sticking to her bare neck. Her black jacket – part of the new supply of bullet and knife-resistant uniforms from Kaleb Krychek and the Arrows – feels too heavy on her skin. 

There’s a tug on her braid, startling her out of her thoughts. She wheels around and smiles to find Evie there, beautiful strong and gentle Evie dressed in a thick cream sweater, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. 

“I’ve been calling your name for five minutes now,” Evie says, nudging Sienna with her elbow. “It’s gross out and your shift’s done; come inside.”

“Don’t you have a paper to write?” Sienna asks as she follows Evie down the sloping ground, grass soft and wet under her shoes. 

“Don’t you have maternals to woo?” Evie retorts, smiling brightly. Even on the greyest of days, she is pleasant and friendly, always with a smile. Sienna still has trouble being so open with others, even her packmates; but she is trying. She will always try. 

Sienna shrugs, linking her arm into Evie’s. “Not today,” she says with a sigh. “Have you seen Hawke?”

“Indigo has. He looks terrible apparently,” Evie says, shaking her hair out over her shoulders. “She told me to find you.”

“Me?” Sienna asks, blinking. “Is he hurt?”

“He’s got the flu,” Evie says, and Sienna’s heart drops right to her stomach.

“I – what?”

“The flu,” Evie says. They edge along into the White Zone, towards the hidden entrance to the den. “Of course, he won’t admit it.”

Sienna mouths the word, _flu_ , over and over. Sickness is not familiar to the Psy, given the sterile environments of their upbringings and world; and it’s rare for changelings to be laid low by illness, though not unheard of. The flu can be dangerous though; she’s read enough medical and science textbooks to know. 

“Has he gone to Lara?” she asks, weighing her frustration at him with the vindication of her own gut instincts from last night. He had thought to fool her; why?

“No,” Evie says, rolling her eyes. “Dumb dominant men. Why do we put up with them?”

“Don’t ask me,” Sienna says with a small smile as they enter the den. “What am I supposed to do, though? If he won’t listen to Indigo – “

Evie waggles her eyebrows. “Your feminine wiles, of course.”

Wrinkling her nose, Sienna pinches Evie’s arm even as she bites down on a laugh. “Sometimes I just want to throttle him.”

“He might like it,” Evie replies with a wink as they walk through the den corridors, nodding and smiling at passing packmates. “Tell me all the juicy details.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Sienna murmurs. 

Shrugging, Evie smiles sweetly. “And it’s a pleasure.”

*

He looks worse than he did last night, eyes sunken and face pale. 

Sienna steps inside his office and shuts the door with an easy click. Hunched over his desk, he looks up at her with bleary pale eyes. 

“You _are_ sick,” she says, trying to keep the hurt from her tone. 

“I’m fine,” he mutters, shuffling papers along his desk. 

“Hawke!”

He watches her, eyes narrowed. “Sienna,” he says, voice low and entirely commanding. 

Of course, in the next moment, he begins coughing as if his lungs are trying to escape his chest, completely negating his imperious tone. She rolls her eyes and walks over to him, tugging him up with surprising ease. 

“You’re an idiot,” she says, swallowing the hard bitter lump in her throat. “Why didn’t you just say something last night?”

He wraps his arms around her and rubs his flushed face into the crown of her hair, tucking her close. “You’re very feisty today,” he mutters. 

“Don’t cuddle me,” she says crossly, detaching herself and pulling on his sweat-damp wrist. “And don’t flatter.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“You’re trying,” she says curtly, tugging him down the hall towards the corridor leading to the healing wing. 

“My office – “

She wheels on him and pushes him back against the cool stone wall, glaring at him. “Stay. Right. There,” she says warningly, pinning her gaze to his bleary blue eyes. 

Obligingly, he doesn’t move as she walks back to lock his office door. In fact, he looks very comfortable, leaning against the stone wall. She plants her hands on her hips and sighs. “So are you going to see Lara?”

He looks up at her through his pale lashes, mouth set in a thin line. “Do I have a choice?”

For a moment, she feels utterly vulnerable in a way only he can make her. She wants to simultaneously hug him and punch him in the face; concurrent emotions that she isn’t a stranger to, when it comes to Hawke. But he is ill, and she has so little experience with illness. She feels as if he may disappear in front of her. 

_It’s the flu, Sienna, not a death sentence,_ she thinks briskly as she wraps her hands around his elbow and leads him down the corridor. “No, you don’t have a choice. Mate’s prerogative,” she says evenly. 

He snorts. “Don’t you have to ask Riley first?”

“And who do you think he would side with, you stubborn idiot?” she retorts. 

Hawke mumbles something under his breath, but is very quiet as they walk the easy path towards Lara’s office. It’s a brief visit, with Lara giving some of the most magnificent side-eye Sienna has seen from the healer in months. 

“It’s no wonder you’re sick,” Lara scolds, thrusting vitamin supplements into Sienna’s waiting hands as Hawke glares at them both mulishly from the doorway. “Running yourself ragged, like you’re immortal. You’re as bad as Judd, I swear.”

“Rude,” Hawke mutters. 

“Shut up,” Lara retorts. “Take a shower. Eat some soup. Drink water with the supplements. Get some sleep.”

“There’s nothing else?” Sienna asks, brow furrowing. 

Lara shrugs. “No magic pills yet for viruses, unfortunately. He needs rest and electrolytes.”

“I’m fine,” he murmurs. 

“Your opinion is not valid at this time,” Sienna says curtly. 

“You’re so sexy when you talk like a Psy,” he says with a weak shadow of a smirk crossing his lips. 

Lara rolls her eyes, though there is the faintest smirk on her lips. “And you, take extra vitamin supplements,” she says to Sienna. “Don’t let him drag you down with him.”

“Too late,” Sienna says with a faint smile. But she rearranges the supplies in her arms and takes Hawke by the elbow, nodding to Lara as she steers him out of the healer’s wing. 

Hawke is quiet as she guides them to their quarters. She strips him of his clothes and tugs him into sweatpants and t-shirt before rolling him into bed. When she leaves him in bed, she moves to the kitchen and heats up tea and soup, mixes him a nutrient-laden glass of water. It all takes less than ten minutes; when she creeps back into the bedroom with a full tray, she finds him sitting up against the headboard, blinking dazedly. 

“I was in my office,” he mumbles. 

“And I came and got you,” she says briskly, setting the tray down on their shared dresser. “You should eat something.”

He puts out a hand to her, looking strangely pathetic. Biting back a smile, she sits next to him at the edge of the bed and takes his hand between both of hers. His skin is still damp with sweat, overwarm. He always runs hot, but not like this. 

“Can you eat?” she asks softly. 

His fingers curl against her palm. “Not hungry,” he murmurs. 

“I’m absolutely positive you haven’t eaten at all today.”

He leans back against the pillows and wraps his fingers around her wrist, pulling her along with him. 

“Hawke – “

“Tired,” he murmurs, tucking his head against her shoulder. 

Sighing, Sienna wraps her arms around him and lets him curl around her. It’s not very often that he is so still, so vulnerable. He rubs his cheek against her shoulder and flattens his hand over her stomach, warm through the thin fabric of her shirt. The simulated light in their quarters is grey and soft, reflective of the grey skies outside. She strokes her hand over his back, reassured by the slow rise and fall with his every breath. 

“You’re going to be all right, yes?” she asks softly, tucked so close to him she can feel his heartbeat against her breast. 

He nuzzles his face into her neck, laughing softly. “It’s just the flu, baby.”

“Psy don’t get ill like this,” she says, rubbing at the taut muscles of his shoulders. “I didn’t – I didn’t know what was wrong.”

Hawke is very quiet – for a moment, she thinks he has fallen asleep. Then, his hand starts moving over her abdomen, stroking lightly. His fingers push up at the hem of her shirt to touch bare skin. She shivers, and smiles slightly. 

“You were worried,” he says hoarsely. 

She blinks, bowing her head to kiss the top of his hair. “Of course I was. I still am. You should really eat, Hawke.”

He raises his head to look at her, eyes pale and bleary. But the wolf is there, lingering and focused on her. “I mean – more than usual.”

Flushing slightly, she strokes her fingers through his hair, silver-blond and soft under her touch. “I didn’t know what was wrong.”

Flattening his palm against her bare stomach, he leans down to kiss her cheek. His love and affection thrums strongly between them, the mating bond secure. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t realize.”

She touches his cheek and nudges him down to lay on his back, sitting up. “It’s all right. I love you,” she says, shifting out of bed and moving to the tray on the dresser. “And because I love you, I’m making you eat.”

Hawke grumbles, but he lets her feed him broth and vitamin-enriched tea before he stretches out in bed and shuts his eyes. She strokes his hair as she sits at the edge of the bed, watching him carefully. 

“You need sleep,” she says. 

“I need _you_ ,” he corrects, smirking faintly. 

“Later,” she laughs, shaking her head. Her braid drapes over her shoulder; she tugs on the end with uneasy fingers. “Now, you need sleep.”

He covers her hand loosely with his, linking their fingers together as he brings her hand to his cheek, a strange coolness against his overwarm skin. “I love you,” he says roughly, drowsy with sleep. It thrills and assures her, even as his eyes drift shut. 

He dozes off soon after, plied with broth and tea and vitamins. Sienna takes her current coursework into the living room of their quarters and curls up to read on the sofa, part of her attention on the bedroom and the quiet there. He is in her care and he is safe. He will be well, eventually. The anxiety that haunted her all day lessens just a bit, until she can feel her own exhaustion seeping into her bones. The last thing she remembers is flipping to a new page on her reader, examining different types of psychic bonds. 

When she wakes, the living room is dim with the coming cool evening, and there is a warm lump curled up at her feet at the opposite end of the couch. She blinks and raises her head, eyes adjusting to see a silver wolf, large and gorgeous, sleeping with her. Smiling, she reaches down and rubs her knuckles along the soft ridge of his head. His ears twitch, but he remains asleep. Eventually, when she shifts, he wakes as well; the man who is her mate remains in his wolf form, following her sleepily as she moves into their bedroom. He curls up right next to her, the wolf’s breathing a comfort to her. 

Sienna falls asleep with her wolf at her side, reassured completely. It is merely the flu; all will be well. 

*


End file.
